Chapter 6 - Ashes of the Dynasty
By Monday morning, the financial collapse of Vance Development Holdings was the lead story on every major news outlet in Chicago.
“Vance Empire Crumbles on Wedding Day: Federal Agents Arrest CEO Amid Multi-Million Dollar Fraud Probe.”
The headlines flashed across television screens in cafes, financial offices, and commuter trains across the city. Photos of Paul Vance in handcuffs outside his daughter’s luxury wedding reception dominated the front pages of the Chicago Tribune.
Inside her quiet, sunlit apartment in Lincoln Park, Rowan sat at her drafting desk with a cup of black coffee, watching the morning news broadcast with an expression of quiet detachment. There was no sense of triumphant glee—only the profound, grounding relief of a structural engineer watching a hazardous, termite-ridden structure finally come down safely before it could crush anyone else.
Her phone buzzed on the wooden desktop.
It wasn't Camille. It wasn't Paul from a holding cell. It was Marcus, the executive chef from Grandview Estate.
“Good morning, Ms. Reynolds,” the text read. “Just wanted to let you know the catering staff got paid out of the escrow receivership funds this morning. Thank you for making sure the kitchen workers didn't take the fall for the family's mess. If you ever need a private dinner catered, my kitchen is yours.”
Rowan smiled softly, typing back a brief word of thanks.
An hour later, a sharp, frantic knocking echoed against her apartment door.
Rowan didn't need to check the peephole. There was only one person in Chicago desperate enough, unhinged enough, and thoroughly ruined enough to show up at her doorstep uninvited on a Monday morning.
She walked over to the door and unlocked the deadbolt.
Camille stood in the hallway. The radiant, untouchable bride of forty-eight hours earlier was completely gone. She wore an oversized, wrinkled gray hoodie, her blonde hair was unwashed and pulled into a messy knot, and her mascara was smeared heavily beneath her swollen, red-rimmed eyes.
Without waiting for an invitation, Camille pushed past Rowan and stumbled into the apartment, collapsing onto the living room sofa with a guttural, shaking sob.
"They took everything, Rowan," Camille wailed, burying her face in her hands. "The bank accounts are locked. Julian’s family annulled the marriage before breakfast this morning. Our apartment lease was canceled because Dad used forged checks for the security deposit. I have... I have literally nothing left."
Rowan closed the apartment door slowly, locking it behind her. She walked over to the kitchen island, poured a second cup of warm water, and set it on the coffee table in front of her sister.
"You have your health, Camille," Rowan said evenly, leaning against the back of the sofa. "And you have a college degree. You can get a job."
"A job?!" Camille shrieked, looking up with wild, bloodshot eyes. "Doing what?! Filing paperwork?! Serving coffee?! I don't know how to live like a normal person! Dad promised we were set for life!"
"Dad lied to you, Camille. I tried to tell you that two years ago when I refused to sign his corporate restructuring papers. But you called me boring. You called me jealous because Dad bought you a Porsche for your twenty-first birthday while I drove a ten-year-old Honda."
Camille shrank back into the cushions, her lower lip trembling. "Are you going to send me to jail too? The police said you hold the controlling stake in the corporate accounts. You can press charges against me for receiving embezzled funds for my bachelorette trip."
Rowan looked down at her younger sister—the girl who had mocked her in the restaurant, who had laughed in the commercial kitchen while pointing at a paper plate of leftover cake. The anger she had carried for a decade had completely burned out, leaving behind a cold, clear clarity.
"No, Camille," Rowan said quietly. "I'm not going to send you to jail. The federal prosecutors have enough evidence against Paul and his co-conspirators without adding you to the indictment. But I am cutting you off. Completely."
May you like
Camille’s eyes widened in horror. "What does that mean? Where am I supposed to go?"
"Figure it out," Rowan replied, her voice unyielding. "Just like millions of other people do every single day. The era of living off stolen money is over."
